


Raise the Steaks (And His Weight)

by emissaryofrainbows



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Food Kink, Other, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emissaryofrainbows/pseuds/emissaryofrainbows
Summary: So, instead of doing all of the requests I still have to finish I decided to do something that literally nobody asked for. Namely, some Soldier 76 weight gain. Enjoy! Or don't!





	Raise the Steaks (And His Weight)

"Hey, come and get it!" Jack Morrison declared, as he placed a thick, grilled slab of meat on a plate. Jack was wearing an apron and sandals in place of his typical combat armor, with Tactical Cans of Diet Soda strapped to his arm if he needed them. Usually, Jack Morrison was Soldier 76, but today, he was Grillmaster 76, and his one task was to provide delicious meats for his comrades relaxing on the beach.

He received only a few brief glances from the beachgoers, before they immediately went back to whatever they were doing. 

"Come on, I didn't bring my grill out here for nothing," Jack said. "You seem like a guy who likes himself a good steak, right McCree?"

"Sorry partner," McCree said from his lifeguard chair, twirling his revolver, straw hat tipped in front of his eyes. "You can't eat an hour before you swim, and I need to be ready to rescue someone from drowning at a moment's notice."

McCree was pretty sure that was just an urban legend, but he wasn't about to argue with McCree, or risk imperiling his important lifeguard duty.

"How about you, Widowmaker?" he asked. The bikini-clad sniper didn't even bother to look at him as she continued to wordlessly ignore him. Now, normally it would've been unusual for the Talon agent to associate herself with Overwatch, but since this is an alternate universe, anything can happen, even if it directly contradicts Overwatch lore. Also, Bastion was there. 

"Well, fine," Jack said, like a frustrated parent. "I guess that leaves more for me, then."

Jack helped himself to the large steak he had prepared. He congratulated himself on his grilling talent, the steak was perfectly done, and coated evenly in spices. His teammates had no idea what they were missing. 

"You did a good job, Jack," he said to himself. If his friends weren't going to praise him for being an unrivaled grillmaster, he'd just have to do it himself.

He washed the steak down with an entire can of diet soda. The sun and the grill's heat had left him extremely parched.

"You're all missing out," Jack said. He placed a hand to his stomach, punctuating his sentence with a hearty but unintentional belch.

"Excuse me," he said, patting his belly, although nobody seemed particularly bothered. Jack was half-hoping that his eruction would help draw attention to his tragically uneaten meat, but alas, it seemed like everyone was still preoccupied. Since serving the meat to others was no longer a possibility, Jack focused his efforts on satisfying himself. He had spent the entire day in the hot sun, slaving over his grill, after all, and as a result, he was starving. The single steak wasn't enough to satisfy his appetite, so, he got himself another, devouring it in two manly bites. 

And still, he wasn't sated. Jack was clearly dealing with a serious hunger. Instead of eating one steak at a time, he piled several juicy, grill-marked slices of meat high atop his white plate, settling down on a nearby lounge chair to enjoy them. This was no ordinary meat pile, however. Jack had picked up at least a dozen steaks, and the pile was high enough to read over his own head. He managed to get into the chair without the tower of beef falling over, but just barely. He balanced the plate on his stomach, an easy feat to do, with his midsection retaining his youthful, military-hardened abs even into his older age.

His belly wouldn't remain flat and toned for long, however. As he began to chow into the pile of meat, his stomach expanded, gradually forming into the size and shape of a beach ball, fittingly enough. The tower of beef still balanced itself, even on Jack's rounded gut, so the soldiers was free to indulge himself without worry.

After a few more minutes, the plate atop Morrison's spherical gut was finally empty, and he was finally satisfied. He finished his meal with a hearty belch, which finally caused the denizens of the beach to pay attention to him, although mostly out of curiosity or revulsion. Jack didn't bother to excuse himself this time. The Overwatch agents had shown him disrespect by refusing his cooking in the first place, so he was showing disrespect back   
with a thunderous, unapologetic burp.

His belly had swollen to a point where his clothing no longer fit. Even his apron and undershirt started to ride up, exposing his titanic, hairy dad belly to the unforgiving summer sun. His pants were under a similar pressure, and after putting up an admirable fight against Jack's burgeoning gut. The button on his shorts popped off, rocketing through the air, hitting McCree on the back of the head with a precision that would make Widowmaker envious.

Once again, Jack provided no apology. This time, it was mainly because McCree seemed unaware that he was the culprit, and he didn't want to admit to the deed by apologizing. 

Also, Jack had reached a state of pure, gluttonous shamelessness. The sun was warm, and he was stuffed and satisfied, so nothing bothered him anymore. He rubbed his fat, tight gut, launching a series of meaty belches into the air without the slightest bit of remorse. 

Widowmaker packed up her things and left in disgust, but the Overwatch agents remained, for fear of offending their superior. They did, however, move their activities slightly, to somewhere out of earshot of their boss's burps.

Jack took another swig from his soda can, letting out one final burp before slipping into a delightful food coma, with the warm sun pleasantly against his belly.


End file.
